


Lazy Days.

by xerxezra



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 08:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16092083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerxezra/pseuds/xerxezra
Summary: Stuart tries to nurse you back to health … in his own way.





	Lazy Days.

It’s not every day your body succumbed to the endless demands of Murdoc’s asinine scheming that you were contractually obligated to fulfill. Frantic, fast-paced madness is what the last week had been, and with the fluctuating temperatures signaling the start of a gloomy, rainy autumn in lovely ol’ Essex, you begrudgingly fought against the telltale sniffles that signaled harder times ahead.

Sure enough, you were forced out of a dreamless slumber by the persistent ache in your sinuses, and the numbing sensation of fatigue rooted itself deep into your bones until you were little more than a paper mache creature, too tired and miserable to move an inch from where you lie. You burrowed deeper into the fluffy comforter and prayed for an easy day at Kong Studios. 

And then you promptly snorted. Since when has your life ever been easy in this hellhole?

The mattress shifted ever so slightly beside you. A pang of guilt shot through you — had you accidentally woken him up? Your poor love needed a full night of rest after the splitting headache he had endured, brought on by an alcohol-fueled bar fight escalated by Murdoc’s row with a bouncer. 

A comforting weight settled across your stomach, and you turned your head to look at Stuart’s bleary eyes, staring at you like broken headlights. The arm he slithered along your body pulled you closer to him, and you turned to snuggle into his chest. 

“Mornin’,” he muttered sleepily, the raspiness in his voice shooting tingles down your spine. Even in the sorry state you found yourself, you could not resist being charmed by him.

You trailed a hand down the flat expanse of his side and settled on his hip, smoothing your thumb back and forth. “How are you feeling?” you asked, sniffling lightly and cringing at the grating feeling in your throat. 

“Fine,” he breathed into your hair, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “Wouldn’t mind a couple ‘o more paracetamol pills, though.” 

Not a good way to start off the morning, at least by your standards. “How about a decent breakfast first?” you offered.

“Wot’s a better breakfast than that?” You felt a hard poke on your thigh and inwardly sighed as his hold on you tightened. “On second thought, maybe I got me somefink tasty right here…” 

“Stu,” you giggled tiredly and lightly smacked his ass. “You’re incorrigible.”

“Mmm, I luv it when yew use big words. Never ‘ad foreplay this fun and educational before.” Stuart smoothed away errant strands of hair covering your face and tenderly kissed your forehead. You fully expected a wide smile when he looked at you once more, but you were met with concern instead. “Are yew doin’ okay, luv?” He pressed a cool hand to your cheek, and you leaned into it with a merciful sigh. “Feels like you’re burnin’ up.” 

You hummed in agreement and sniffed. “I think I caught the bug,” you confessed, pulling slightly away from him as you spoke. “I probably shouldn’t be this close to you, come to think of it. Can’t have you getting sick.”

Stuart prompted you to lay on your back as he shifted to hover over you, the deep red of his irises flickering along your form as he took in your sickly appearance. “Take a day off an’ get sum rest,” he insisted.

“I can’t do that, baby. The life of an audio engineer isn’t one of leisure around here. Besides, you know Noodle needs help with her homework —“

“Just leave it to me!” He hopped off the bed before you could voice your disagreement, pushing your weak body back onto the pillows as he tucked the comforter around you until you were rolled up like a burrito. “I can do all that and more. Yew fink I can’t handle my way around a few compressors and sequencers?”

“And Noodle?” you grumbled. “Dinner? House chores?”

Stuart bit his lower lip in thought, the tip of his tongue sticking out between the gaps of his missing front teeth. “I — I can…do all that…”

“Stu, you’re terrified of the washing machine.” 

He steepled his fingertips nervously. “Maybe we could, uh, skip it for today. And Russ’ll help Noodle, on account of him actually understanding what she says...” 

You closed your eyes and sighed, feeling your hope dwindle with each suggestion. How could he take care of the house when he had a pathological revulsion to throwing dirty socks into the hamper as opposed to inches away from it, or leaving discarded notes laying all over the floor like an avalanche had passed through? Not to mention the man’s idea of a perfect dinner was greasy Domino’s pizza.

“Baby, you really don’t need to —“

“I want to, though.” The soft vulnerability in his words gave you pause. You looked up at him, wide-eyed and curious. He reached out to run his fingers through your hair and smiled lightly. “C’mon, luv. It’s not every day I get the chance to look after yew. Lemme return the favor.” 

Your heart skipped a beat as you felt a blush creep up your heated cheeks. A wordless nod was enough to bring forth that big smile you loved so much, and with promises of a delicious breakfast, Stuart left you in the peaceful solitude of your room. You spent a few minutes wandering in and out of sleep as the hypnotic pitter pattering of rain against your ceiling-high windows lulled you into a false sense of security, until the image of Murdoc’s rabid, displeased face burned the back of your eyelids and propelled you out of bed and into the bathroom for some freshening up. You may be sick and weak, but you couldn’t excuse poor hygiene. Not like some people.

By the time all was said and done, you slowly wandered through the maze of floors in the studio until finally finding the kitchen. Stuart was hard at work by the stove, humming a chipper tune and scratching his bum as he flipped something on a frying pan. Your eye twitched at the monstrous mess strewn about the countertops. 

Was that an eel sticking out of the sink? 

You shook your head and soldiered on. No use nagging him when he was trying to do something sweet for you.

The smell wafting from your soon-to-be breakfast assaulted your clogged nostrils and nearly detoxed your illness like radioactive chemotherapy. 

Here we go.

“Smells interesting,” you said, hiding your smirk as you peeked over his shoulder. 

Stuart looped an arm across your shoulder and pecked your temple. “Go sit down; it’s almost ready.” 

You decided to spare yourself from witnessing the contents of the frying pan too soon, following his movement as he twirled you around towards the table. The clutter had been swooped aside to make way for a careful setup of a pristine paper plate and plastic cutlery that had been neatly positioned over a folded napkin, complete with a red party cup filled with orange juice. You smiled fondly at his earnest attempt to impress you — he may have never been allowed to touch the kitchen under his mother’s watchful eye, but at least he had some experience in making himself useful. 

A fit of sneezes accosted you while Stuart plated the food. You heard him haphazardly throw the frying pan back onto the stove and make his way over to you once more, pulling out a chair beside you and stretching out his long legs. “Go on, then,” he prompted you, pointing to the plate you so desperately hoped to avoid. 

But you looked anyway. 

It was…an omelette? Or something akin to it, burnt to a crisp and mixed with chunks of oddities that you could not make out. “W-wow,” you weakly remarked, poking the slop with a fork. “Thank you so much, Stu. I’m seeing lots of stuff in here; you must have worked so hard."

He flashed you a boyish smile. “Yew like it? Mum used ta make this for me — actually, remember when she made me bring it to yew in year twelve? Y’know, when we had that big exam comin’ up an’ yew were pukin’ your guts out an’ cried from how good it tasted —“

“Yes, I remember,” you quickly interjected, desperate to ignore the churning in your stomach. 

Rachel’s delicious omelette flooded your senses as you recounted the taste of home cooked meals, the first of many that soon followed in the Tusspot household. The memories of tutoring Stuart for your math class and sneaking around train tracks to smoke cigarettes after school boosted your mood, and you sucked in a deep breath before shoveling a bite into your mouth. Stuart watched you in anticipation, resting his head on his hand as he leaned against the table.

Your tastebuds were lit on fire, coated in the flavor of burnt charcoal and soured milk. Clearly, the dear man added his own sense of flare to his mother’s recipe. “What’s…in here?” you meekly asked through your chewing, masquerading your grimace with a tight smile.

“Oh, yew know. Just the basics,” he replied with a wave of his hand. “There’s egg, obviously. Couldn’t find any normal eggs but I found somefink vaguely blueish, some kinda funky lookin’ thing. Then there’s tomatoes, onion, vegemite, a couple o’ oranges for that vitamin business, cucumbers —“ 

“Cucumber?” You poked at the concoction until you found the culprit, holding out a piece between you as you eyed its burnt green color. “It tastes salty, though.”

“Yeah? I ‘unno, just saw ‘em floating around in some kinda jar in the cupboard, so I figured I could use ‘em. Maybe they went bad...”

A spark of realization shot through you, and you didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Those are Russel’s pickles, Stu.” 

Stuart cocked an eyebrow at your pointed look, shifting his gaze between your eyes and the fork. “Uh, okay. Why you lookin’ at me like I grew two heads?”

“Baby, cucumbers and pickles are two different things.”

He blinked owlishly. “…whot? Yew serious?” 

You gently patted his hand and fought against the ungodly urge to burst into laughter. “Even when there’s no foreplay, you still end up learning something, huh?” 

Stuart furrowed his brows in contemplation while you discretely sniffled and coughed. “But, uh…whot about sea cucumbers?” he asked, scratching at his cheek.

“Those are marine animals.”

“See, now I know you’re takin’ the piss.” He reached out to rest the back of his hand against your forehead while you giggled and masked the taste of the omelette with orange juice. “Still feels like yew got a fever — it’s probably gonna make you a wee bit wonky.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sure, Stu.”

“Hey, no sassing your nurse,” he rebuked with a no-nonsense tone, pushing the plate closer to you. “Eat up, luv.”

The scorched pile stared back at you in silent jest. With no band members to distract Stuart from your actions, you said a silent prayer and scarfed down as much of the omelette into your mouth as you could handle, swallowing with minimal chewing and chasing it all down with juice. 

“Whoa, I must’a made it real good!” Stuart proudly proclaimed, and much to your horror, reached out for a piece with his fingers. “Lemme see what all the fuss is about —“

“Baby, no —“

Your sluggish limbs were no match for his mile-long arm, and in a heartbeat he managed to plop it into his mouth. 

And promptly dry-heaved. 

“Whot the blimey fuck is this!” he shrieked, dragging the plate away from you to stare at his creation in disbelieve as you held a hand over your mouth and turned away, laughing and coughing all at the same time. 

“It’s — it’s really not so bad,” you stuttered out between chuckles, wiping at a stray tear that escaped your eye.

“The hell it’s not,” he muttered and looked at you with an inscrutable expression. “Yew were really about ta eat this rubbish in one go?”

“Well, yeah?” You resisted the urge to pull him into a hug, lest you got him sick. “Can’t let your hard work go to waste.”

“Honey, yew gotta be honest with me about these things. I don’t wanna give yew food poisoning or somefink.” He sighed and dragged a hand down his face. “Sorry, luv. This is already off to a bad start…” 

You soothingly rubbed his knee and prompted him to look at you. “I still appreciate your efforts, sweetheart. At least the orange juice is good, right?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Very funny, yew.” Suddenly, his eyes opened wide and he shot out of his seat. “I know what to do! C’mon, luv —“ He grabbed hold of your upper arm and tugged you along. “Yew can make yourself comfortable in the livin’ room while I clean the house.”

Images of white clothing mixed with the colors flashed through your head, and you spent a solid five minutes begging Stuart to leave the chores alone. Your protests fell on deaf ears. He bundled you up in a blanket and propped you up on the couch with an endless supply of VHS tapes and the remote control — you could never find the damn thing because everyone hid it from each other — and with a final kiss to your forehead, left you to stew in your worries. 

Your anxiety heightened ten-fold when Murdoc slithered into the living room with bared teeth and a horrifically revealing bathrobe. “Ain’t you supposed to be down in the recording studio?” he groused. “Been lookin’ everywhere for your sorry arse, and ‘ere you are, living a life of luxury while we bust our bollocks doing all the dirty work!”

There were two ways to deal with Murdoc. You could either grovel at his feet and play up the role of an overworked, sickly woman — to which he would hiss and drag you all the way to the recording studio with his raptor claws digging into your poor skin. Or, you could piss him off to the point where he wanted nothing to do with you — which always winds up in worse altercations later on, and possibly a raid to your prized chocolate vault.

You had neither patience nor strength for either choices.

Time for scare tactics. 

“I’m feeling really under the weather today,” you explained, hoping the gravelly tone in your voice conveyed the extent of your illness. “If you want me spraying my germs left and right till you get mange or whatever, be my guest. God knows your rotting corpse of a body can’t handle the common cold.” 

“Right, so you thought to infect the whole damn living room instead, eh, you fuckin’ wanker?”

“Yep.”

“Wonderful.” He turned with a flourish, grumbling loud enough for you to hear his dramatic griping. “Surrounded by bleedin’ idiots around here…” 

You grinned and decided to treat yourself to some Blade Runner in honor of your victory. The molding geriatric bassist had his moments of decency, you supposed. 

Every so often, the sound of ruckus and Noodle shenanigans echoed down the hallway, a constant reminder that you were never quite safe from your band mates. To your surprise, however, you were left alone for a few hours, save for a monkey in a fez hat that delivered you pizza and garlic breadsticks. Not exactly the hearty chicken noodle soup you were silently hoping for, but your grumbling stomach certainly had no complaints. 

The eventual mind numbing boredom that came with lonely movie marathons chewed at your sanity during your period of isolation. You were starting to really miss social interaction by the time evening rolled through, but the dull ache of heat on your cheeks and the mountain of tissues by your side reminded you that it would be selfish to get the others sick. 

Luckily, you weren’t left alone for much longer. Stuart strolled in with a confident swagger, eagerly recounting his hard work for the day. 

“ — an’ I didn’t get near the washing machine, but I left all the clothes in the laundry room so Russel can handle it later, and — “

“Thank you, baby,” you said with a smile and blew your nose.

“ — and I made yew a bath,” he finished, waving you over to follow him. “It ain’t much, but I figured it’d help.”

“That sounds lovely,” you sighed happily, summoning your energy to trail after Stuart to your bedroom. Thank goodness you had the foresight to pick a room with a bathroom unit when you first moved in. There was no way in hell you were going to use the filthy communal bathroom that Murdoc christened with piss. 

You stopped in the entryway, taking in the sight of Stuart’s effort. 

The tub was overflowing with a mountain of bubbles, glowing a warm golden hue from the candles that lined the edges. You stepped into the bathroom, overcome with love as you turned to him. “You really did this for me?” you asked softly, loosely gripping the front of his shirt and leaning your head against his chest.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your head. “Of course I did, luv. An’ I know how annoying the lights can be, so I thought the dimness would do yew good."

“You’re making it really hard for me not to kiss you.”

A chuckle reverberated through his chest. “I wouldn’t mind, I miss your kisses.”

You shook your head and grinned wryly, stepping away from Stuart to remove your clothing. It was only once you dragged your pants down your hips that you noticed he was still there, watching your half-naked body with rapt attention. 

“Enjoying the view?” you snarked, wiggling your butt at him as you shimmied out of your underwear.

“It’s a view that keeps me livin’, hun.” You couldn’t help giggling.

The sound of rustling behind you drew your focus back to Stuart, and you hummed in consternation as he removed his shirt. “I’ll definitely get you sick if we bathe together.”

“That’s okay — gives yew a reason ta dote on me next time,” he retorted.

You really should have put up more of a fight to dissuade him. But you were embarrassingly clingy whenever you got sick, and your primitive brain demanded the comfort of your lover in favor of keeping him safe from illness. “Silly man. Don’t say I didn’t warn you."

Stuart got into the bath first, looking like an out of place, oversized rag doll as he spread his bent legs for you to join him, leaning your back to his chest as he wrapped his arms around you. You sighed and rested your head on his shoulder, wishing you could smell the scent of the bubbles. 

The warmth of the water soothed your aching muscles and willed away your fever. Even your sinuses became unclogged for the moment, giving you much needed reprieve from the constant sniffles that made your face hurt. So lost were you in this wonderful state of bliss that you took no notice of Stuart’s wandering hands. 

The touches were innocent at first — fingertips trailing along your arm and up the slope of your curved knee, tantalizing traces circling your hip that had you wiggling to escape the ticklish sensation. Stuart carried on like this, his mouth curled into a teasing half-smile as he hummed a simple tune from the upcoming album. 

It had all been a part of his plan, the dastardly fiend. Whoever said Stuart was unintelligent had no idea how clever he could be. 

Of course your subtle movements would inevitably make you bump into his growing erection. Of course he would shift a little forward until it rested against your lower back, and of course he would trap you with his large hands as they abandoned their virtuous path to shamelessly cup your breasts. 

Of course.

“Is this meant to make me feel better?” you asked, rubbing your thighs together to quell your growing arousal. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, circling his thumbs along the underside of your nipples, avoiding where you needed his touch the most. “I heard sex is good for the flu. Helps yew sweat it out, I fink.”

“That’s all a myth, Stu,” you replied, yet your hips moved of their own accord against his cock. 

A breathy moan escaped his throat, and his grip on your breasts tightened. “Gotta test it out first though, yeah?”

You silently pouted, halting your motions as you regained your senses. “We can’t even kiss."

“So whot? It’s not like I can’t kiss yew in otha places,” Stuart cheekily said. “For example, I could kiss yew here — “ You jolted as you felt his lips along the shell of your ear, giggling when his tongue flicked the lobe. “ — or maybe even here — “ He pressed a kiss to your jawline and finally flicked your nipples with his thumbs. You mewled at the sudden sensation, arching your chest into his touch. “ — and my personal favorite spot would be right here,” he finished, the warmth of his breath along the crux of your neck and shoulder sending shivers down your spine in anticipation. 

The delicious feeling of his lips sucking bruising kisses on your skin had you in a frenzy in no time. Your head fell to the side to grant him better access as he nipped and licked your sensitive spots, your breath quickening and legs spread wide for his fingers trailing down your torso. You longed to reach around to stroke his cock or beckon his mouth towards your now neglected nipple, but you were utterly helpless to the pleasure overwhelming you. All you could do was tangle your fingers in his azure hair and press him closer to you, biting your lip as he sucked a hickey into your neck. 

He let go with a wet pop to whisper in your ear. “If I had yew spread open all nice and ready for me on the bed, I would’a kissed your soaking wet pussy, too.”

The last vestiges of your reservations fell away, never to be seen again. “Stu, _please_ —“ 

His fingers ghosted lightly over your cunt and resumed their tantalizing strokes along your inner thigh. You wordlessly whined and keened your hips upward, your fingers tightening their hold in his hair. Stuart smiled at your needy display, taking a moment longer to enjoy your frustration before acquiescing to your demands. The water provided enough lubrication for him to run slow, gentle circles around your clit while his other hand lightly grabbed hold of your neck, loose enough to let you breathe but firm enough to remind you who was in charge.

It wasn’t enough. It was never enough. “Fuck me, baby,” you panted, gripping onto the hand between your thighs. 

“Nope,” he replied. “Be a good girl, luv. I wanna feel you come on my fingers first —“ And with that, thrusted two long fingers into your tight cunt, prompting a heady cry from you as you ground against them.

Stuart’s talent for sex was as refined as his golden voice. Within minutes of expertly manipulating your clit with his thumb as he curved his fingers upwards to hit just the right spot, you were a moaning, broken mess, crying out his name and riding a wave of building euphoria, climbing higher and higher to your release as his hand tightened incrementally over your throat, whispering sweet nothings into your ear — _that’s my good girl, come for me babe, I love yew so much_ — until the tightly wound coil within you snapped, and you were utterly gone.

Kisses were peppered along the side of your face while you came down from your orgasm. Stuart gently eased his fingers out of you and hugged you to him, and damn it did you want to turn around and make out with him for hours. But the dull feeling of unwellness muted your postcoital delight, an unwelcome reminder of your predicament. 

But you needed that thick cock inside you. It simply would not do, to leave Stuart aching and hard while you had all the fun. 

“You feelin’ better?” he softly asked, breaking your train of thought. 

“Oh, yes,” you sighed happily, tilting into his hug and shifting your ass so it ran along the underside of his shaft. “We still need to take care of you, though.”

“Th-that’s awright, luv, I can take care of it myself — “

You ignored his protests and leaned forward, breaking away from his hold to lift the drain plug and placing your hands on the side of the tub. With your knees spread wide and back arched in invitation, your cunt coming into view as the water drained away, you knew you looked irresistible. Fever be damned — you were getting fucked tonight. 

Stuart was on you in seconds. His hands grabbed your hips in a viselike grip, and he moaned as he ran his cock along your slick folds. “Hun, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he huffed out, and before you could say a witty retort, plunged all the way into your cunt to the very hilt.

The force of his thrust pushed you forward with a silent cry, yet you were undeterred even by your illness, meeting each snap of his hips with equal fervor. The sound of wet skin-on-skin and Stuart’s high pitched groans combined with your breathy gasps reverberated throughout the bathroom, and even the pain shooting through your knees from the hardness of the tub did nothing to quell the rising tension in your core. 

You arched into the hand that trailed up your spine to rest at the nape of your neck, thrilling at the uncharacteristically dominant display as Stuart used his newfound leverage to thrust slow and deep into you. 

“ _More_ ,” you growled, clenching around his cock as you reached down to rub at your clit. “Fuck me harder, I’m so close, _come on baby_ —“

Stuart doubled over with a tortured moan, his frame draped over you as he pressed sloppy open-mouthed kisses along your back, and damn it did this position hit you just where you wanted it. An arm grasped you tightly around your stomach as his other hand shakily wound itself into your hair, and suddenly you were face to face with your wide-eyed lover, and his lips came crashing down on yours, all twisting tongues and sucking, messy sounds, and you swallowed each other’s moans as you came together, his warm cum buried deep inside you like a dirty secret. 

You took a moment to catch your breath. Stuart carefully slid out of you, stroking a hand along the bruises forming on your hip in apology. “I — I didn’t mean ta get so rough with yew, luv,” he guiltily said. “I’m so sorry.”

“That’s quite alright; I wanted it hard.” You slumped against the tub and quirked a brow at him. “Couldn’t hold off on kissing me though, could you?”

Stuart meekly smiled. “I was really in the moment, yew know! Even if I get sick, it was still worth it.” 

You sighed and shook your head, ruffling his wet hair as you turned on the shower to rinse off the sweat and cum leaking along your inner thigh. The ensuing cleanup was mercifully chaste and quick, and you sent Stuart on a mission for a good, old-fashioned British cup of tea while you made yourself comfortable in bed. 

With the power of Earl Grey and NyQuil flowing through your veins, you ended your day in the loving hold of your hopeless boyfriend, drifting off into a fitful sleep as you basked in his tender caresses. 

And as you dutifully cooked up a pot of hearty soup a few days later for Stuart while he sneezed his life away, you smiled and thought to yourself — _I love you, you ridiculous man._


End file.
